


just three words

by richiewheeler (jormaperalta)



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 1980s relevant homophobia, 5+1 Things, Anachronistic, Homophobic Slurs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, a fun blend of the book and movie, emotionally distant but still affectionate richie, just fucking spit it out richie, loving and understanding eddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-06 03:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12202668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jormaperalta/pseuds/richiewheeler
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak knows. Even though Richie doesn’t say it, he knows.+Five times Richie doesn't sayI love you, and one time he does.





	just three words

**Author's Note:**

> im dying over these ridiculous children, so here this is:

(One)

The first time Eddie feels it is in the Neibolt house. Amidst all the terror and fear and pain coursing through him, he feels a touch. It’s simultaneously forceful and soft. It makes him focus.

Richie’s glasses-framed eyes are staring right back at him.

“Eddie! Look at me- _Look at me!_ ” Richie holds his face in such a way that it actually distracts him from the terrifying fucking clown across from him. Even from the pain, just for the moment.

Eddie’s screaming. At least, he thinks he is. The only things he knows for certain are there’s a clown about to attack him and his friends, his arm is broken, and Richie is touching him.

And since the first two things suck, he focuses on the last.

Richie’s fingers have tiny nicks and scars on them from all the times the stupid idiot has tripped and fallen, but they still feel nice. They’re probably filthy and covered in disease. His mother’s voice that’s always in the back of his mind says, “ _That filthy Tozier boy... don’t let him sully you, darling._ ” But instead, Eddie leans into the touch, because it means distraction from IT.

Then the shishkebabed Pennywise disappears down to the basement and Richie’s hands fall from his face and he can start to hear everyone’s screams as Bill takes off after IT. What the fuck is Bill thinking? But Eddie feels too much to focus again.

Everyone else calls after Bill, but as Eddie hyperventilates on the floor, Richie kneels on the floor right next to him. _Oh fucking Christ how dirty is this floor? So much dirt so much disease_ -

“Bill, we gotta help Eddie!” Richie shouts beside him, but it almost seems like a whisper. Cotton fills his ears as blood pounds. He wants to reach for his inhaler but his arm hurts so goddamn bad but he can’t fucking breathe and everything _hurts_ and Bill has gone and fucked off after a stupid killer clown and _what is his life now?_

“We need to get out of here,” Bev says as he starts to re-focus on everything around him. The other members of the Losers Club are screaming but maybe that’s him.

“That looks fucking bad,” Richie says, right in his ear. He’s shouting but it’s soft somehow. “I need to snap it back into place.”

Eddie realizes a bit belated he’s been screaming and makes sure the words come out of his mouth clearly, “Don’t you _dare_ fucking touch me!”

But then Richie’s gentle touch turns mind-numbingly painful as his arm snaps until it’s kind of straight (one of Richie’s Voices says “ _like this dick_ ” in his head and he wonders if he’s been spending too much time with Trashmouth.)

Eddie screams in pain. He’s about to tear into Richie for doing this to him, but Richie and Bill lift him by the torso and force him to his feet. He’s in so much pain he almost wants to stay in the stupid house just so he doesn’t have to move, but both of the other boys wrap arms around him and guide them all out the demon house and into the street.

“You’re gonna be okay, Eds,” Richie says emphatically, kind of spitting in his ear on the right side of his face. “I got you, you’re gonna be okay.”

“Don’t call me fucking Eds after you re-broke my arm, asshole,” Eddie bites out, but Richie’s arm is nice and warm against his stomach and walking hurts and he’s going to milk this by leaning into Richie a bit harder than necessary. Just because.

It kind of sucks his first “romantic” moment, or at least as close as he’s ever gotten, is in one of the most terrifying places ever.

-

(Two)

As he grows up, Eddie often finds himself looking at couples, and wondering like _how_ they do it. How do you just gather the balls to look the person you like in the eyes and be like, “Hi, do you want to go on a date with me?” To him, it’s just unfathomable. He can fight a fucking demon clown, but not tell his crush he likes him- _them_.

When he panics to Stan about it, his equally anxious friend assures him that they’re pretty young to date anyway, and Eddie thinks that has merit. They’re only freshmen in high school.

But he sees the other kids at school who are dating and they hold hands together and pass notes. And he sees those in his friendship with Richie.

Even though germs are probably all over his hand, Richie always makes sure to hold his hand as they walk home from school. He’s not sure why, it’s just a thing that keeps happening and he doesn’t bother to say anything.

The glasses-wearing boy swings their joined palms wildly between them, saying stuff like, “Maybe if I do this fast enough, I can fling you into the fuckin’ sun,” prompting Eddie to usually reply, “Sometimes, I fucking wish, Trashmouth.”

In classes they share, they pass notes. It actually kind of helps Eddie, because it distracts him from his internal classroom panic of lots of gross, sweaty children all in one room, passing communicable diseases to each other by just their breath. Plus, it’s kind of fun. And it helps Richie, because he actually isn’t talking that much in class anymore, and his conduct grades are going from Ds and Fs to Bs and Cs.

In history class, their teacher Mr. King talks to them about the Civil War. Eddie tries his best to pay attention, but he often gets distracted when Richie passes him a sheet of paper.

_Do you think Pennywise was behind slavery?_

_I mean, its pretty fucked up and evil right??_

Eddie stares at the paper, bewildered, before responding.

**Jesus Christ, you’re an idiot.**

_Its a valid fucking question Eds_

**Shut up.**

_I’m not actually talking_

**For once.**

_Oooooooh Kaspbrak got off a good one! Do i talk too much for little Eddie Spaghetti?_

**Definitely.**

_Why don’t you make me shut up?_

At those words, Eddie is struck with a sudden, immeasurable urge to kiss Richie Tozier on the mouth. And not just to get him to shut up either.

Feeling embarrassed and idiotic, he passes the note back to his friend without any word and doesn’t acknowledge him for the rest of class. Kissing Richie? What a stupid, dumb, _queer_ idea.

When the final bell rings, he shoves his things into his backpack and practically races out the door. Instead of waiting for Richie, he keeps his pace quick, rushing down the stairs to get home as quickly as possible. He’s almost three blocks away from his house before he hears yelling.

“Eds! Spaghetti!” Richie calls obnoxiously from behind him. Eddie just sneers to himself and keeps moving, until the schoolyard sounds are distant. “Eddie! God dammit-”

Suddenly, someone grabs his arm. He yelps and spins around, accustomed to bullies and murderous clowns accosting him out of nowhere.

It’s just Richie, who holds up his hand in the universal gesture for ‘relax.’ He then adjusts his glasses and says, “What the fuck was that about?”

Eddie’s heart pounds against his chest, but it feels way different than the time in Neibolt house. “What was _what_ about, asshole?”

Richie huffs, “You ignored me. And ditched me.”

Eddie stammers, “I have to get home.”

“We were gonna meet the Losers at the Arcade.”

“My mom needs me home.”

Richie stares at him, and it feels so personal. “Why are you lying?”

Eddie holds onto his healed, previously-broken arm in nervousness. “I dunno. Leave me alone.”

“Did I say something? I know I can’t shut up sometimes, but usually-” Something flashes across Richie’s eyes, and the worry on his face shifts to smugness. “Oh Eds. Thinking of kinky ways to make me shut up? You dirty, dirty boy. I can’t believe Golden Boy Eddie Kaspbrak-”

The words _make me_ rattle in Eddie’s brain, and before he knows it, he’s smashing his lips against Richie’s as he continues to blab about nothing important.

Richie actually stops talking. A goddamn Christmas miracle. In near February.

Just as Eddie’s about to pull away, embarrassment pulling at his chest, Richie’s hand grabs his face and keeps him there.

And they’re still kissing.

The whole tongues thing is kinda gross but not entirely unpleasant. Faintly, he thinks he’s supposed to be concerned but then he just decides fuck it.

Finally, they pull away, faces flushed and lips puffy.

“So that happened,” Richie says, clearing his throat. “And what could I expect? I’m dashing, attractive, a total catch-”

He’s not going to let Trashmouth talk his way out of this one. “You like me?” He interrupts. Huh. Maybe it isn’t that hard to ask those questions.

Richie plays with his glasses. “Yeah. A lot. Actually, I- Well, I mean. You’re cute and stuff. I guess. For a fucking nerd-”

“Stop ruining it,” Eddie rolls his eyes fondly.

Richie waggles his eyebrows, “Make me.”

And so he kisses him again. Just to get him to shut up.

Well, maybe not _just_.

-

(Three)

Eddie’s almost fifteen now, nearing the end of his freshman year. Richie Tozier is his boyfriend. Which is a thing he can’t really say but _loves_ to think. _Richard “Richie/Trashmouth” Tozier is my boyfriend_. When they’re just with their friends or alone, they can hold hands like they used to, but now it means something. And they can kiss.

They’ve gotten _much_ better at kissing. And also very good at sneaking in out of each other’s rooms. (Eddie prefers the backdoor that the Toziers always keep unlocked, but Richie insists on climbing through his window _every_ time because he’s an idiot.)

They haven’t... _done_ anything yet. Well, not more than kissing and cuddling. Eddie still gets nightmares, and even Richie does too, even though he pretends he doesn’t. Sleeping together in the same bed, and just sleeping, helps them a lot.

He still gets nightmares, waking up in a cold sweat and tears down his face. But Richie just says something stupid like, “There a lot of better ways to get the covers hot and sticky but you do you, Eds.” And before Eddie could cry more or curse him out for being an insensitive ass, the other boy would pull him close and hug him tight. Then he’d get out of bed to grab a damp towel and clean off his face. Eddie’s cries would subside as whispers of “shh, shh, I got you” and “you’re okay” would lull him back to safety.

But then one night the dreams felt too real.

_He’s back in the Neibolt house. His arm hurts just as much it did back when he fell through the floor._

_Instead of seeing the clown, Pennywise, like he did back then, he sees the leper. Blood seeps from its sore-covered mouth as it says, “Want a blowjob, girly boy? Or-”_

_Eddie watches in horror as the leper takes the form of Richie’s face. “Do you want to give_ me _a blowjob, fag?” Richie’s voice and face says, and he hates how much it hurts to experience it._

_“You’re not real, you’re not real,” Eddie screams at it._

_“Eddie,” Richie says, but it sounds different now._

_“You can’t hurt me, and I don’t want a fucking blowjob-”_

“Eddie!” Richie’s voice shouts, and suddenly Eddie’s awake, unable to breathe. He’s not in Neibolt, his arm’s not broken. He’s in Richie’s room, in Richie’s bed. Pennywise or the leper or that weird nightmare version of his boyfriend. But all those horrifying images are stuck in his brain.

His lungs are clutched in a vice grip and he can’t fucking _breathe_ -

“Eddie, it’s okay, you’re safe, please breathe,” Richie says desperately, voice breaking. He falls off the bed, but Eddie’s too busy trying to breathe to focus on that right now.

Suddenly, an inhaler is shoved between his lips, and pure instinct and old habit has him fumbling with it and pressing down on the button. He knows it’s a placebo (apparently, gazebos are a whole different thing) but he feels better after a few puffs.

Finally, he’s breathing normally again, and his heart no longer races at a three-digit page.

“Jesus, Eds,” Richie says, swallowing loudly from his spot on the floor. His hands are placed behind him for support, and if it weren’t for the pure look of concern on his face, he’d look casual. “Are you okay?”

Eddie nods.

“Good, what the _fuck_ was that?” Richie demands, causing Eddie to winces. His boyfriend deflates and he says, much calmer, “You were shaking, I couldn’t get you to wake up, especially when you started fuckin’ hyperventilating. You scared me.”

Eddie looks down at the inhaler in his hands. “Why do you have this?”

Richie, probably sensing something, grabs his glasses off the bedside table and slips them on. “I’ve always carried one, ever since I saw your first attack.” God. That was back when they were like 8.

He cocks his head, surprised on multiple levels. “But it’s fake. Psychomatic or whatever.”

Richie jerks a shoulder, “It always made you feel better. So I kept it around. Just in case. And before you give me shit, it worked, so shut up.”

Eddie smiles. A small smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Can you get back up here?”

Richie nods, a grin flashing across his face as he scrambles to join him again. They fall back into their sleep positions again, but Richie taps him on the shoulder. Eddie turns around so they’re face to face, just a few inches away.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Richie asks as he takes his glasses back off. “You were... you seemed pretty fucked up over it. Talking in your sleep this time.”

Eddie shakes his head, hoping the darkness of 2 a.m. hides his embarrassed blush. “No. I just want to sleep. Maybe tomorrow.” But he probably wouldn’t talk about it tomorrow, because he’d be fine.

Richie nods back, and then purses his lips off to side, and Eddie _knows_ he’s gonna say something.

“So, is a blowjob _completely_ out of the question-”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up, you dick,” Eddie says sleepily, snuggling into his boyfriend again. But even after the nightmare, he felt warm and safe back in those arms.

-

(Four)

Normally, the Losers Club doesn’t go _out_ to the movies, at least not much anymore. They rent things or Ben wants to “feed his nostalgia” and makes Bill drive them all to the drive-in theater. But Bev is in town for the weekend, the _whole_ weekend, and so they decide to go to the Aladdin.

“Big Bill’s paying,” Richie says, haphazardly swinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders as they loiter in front of the theater. Eddie rolls his eyes, but leans into Richie’s side comfortably.

“Wh-whatever, Tozier,” Bill says, but he’s smiling. He’s also the richest of their group, with his part-time job at the Derry Blockbuster and his penchant for saving his money and not spending it on stupid shit (unlike Richie).

Bev sends Eddie a wink and he blushes. He’s always been able to talk to their lone woman about relationship stuff. But he kind of gets the feeling that Richie does the same because her advice is a little too _apt_ sometimes to just be woman’s intuition.

“What are w-we s-seeing?” Bill asks as they line up.

"Not that dumb rom-com, please," Mike nearly begs.

“That new horror movie looks shitty,” Bev says, sticking her hands in her pockets.

“Why would we bother to pay for a shitty movie?” Stan asks. Eddie sighs to himself. The Losers have been having this same exact fight since the dawn of time.

“Bev should pick,” Ben says, hands fiddling together anxiously. Eddie’s proud of him, though. He rarely says a word when Bev’s over, and he’s already said three.

“I’ll even pay for your ticket, Stan the Man,” Mike says, since his girlfriend has made him see it like three times now. 

“N-no, I got his,” Bill says quickly. “B-but I’m not p-paying for yours, T-Trashmouth.”

Eddie doesn’t even need to look over to know that Richie’s fluttering his eyelashes at him coquettishly.

“Say a fucking word and I won’t buy your ticket.”

“Yes, massah," He says in his Southern belle voice.

“Stop being racist.”

“Yes, m-”

Eddie elbows his boyfriend in the gut, but still pays for his ticket.

Later, they sit in the dark theater. The movie must be _really_ shitty, because it’s a Friday night and their theater is empty. Even though the whole point of the evening is for them to be together, they all sprawl around the various seats.

Mike and Ben sit up in the middle, where each theater is typically “optimized for the best acoustics.” Stan sits closest to the doors, because “what if there’s a fire, Eddie? Then what do you do?” Bill and Bev sit at the front row where there’s a rail so they can kick their feet up and probably laugh and talk and stuff.

Eddie follows his boyfriend to the back of the theater, which is for the best because maybe they’ll make out.

(But more than likely, Richie will just whisper dumb commentary into his ear the entire time.)

The movie starts, and it’s bad so far. But Eddie always feels calmer when all the Losers are together, like everything’s aligned.

And then the movie’s villain turns out to be a guy with leprosy, affecting them all through blood and spit.

 _Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck_ , of all the _fucking_ movies-

“Just breathe,” Richie whispers as Eddie's chest starts to tighten. Quickly, he lifts the armrest between them. Instinctively, Eddie cowers into Richie’s shoulder and scrunches his eyes shut. He just wants all the gross, bodily fluid sound effects emanating from the speakers to _stop._

“I’ll tell you when the scary part’s over,” Richie promises. He nods against him and waits for this movie to end.

After only being able to sporadically watch the shitty flick, they all part ways after making plans to meet for breakfast at 9 in the morning at Bev’s favorite restaurant.

“So fuckin’ early,” Richie groans, kicking at a rock in their way.

“It must suck to date someone so anxious,” Eddie says, making sure to keep eye contact with the gravel at his feet. He’s always wondered if Richie hates always having to take care of him and check on him. Always having to lull him from nightmares and warn him when scary parts of B-movie horror flicks are over. Even carrying around a goddamn inhaler that doesn’t even fucking work.

He’s heard other guys at school talk about _high-maintenance chicks_. Is he high-maintenance? Does Richie bitch about him behind his back?

Richie says, no Voices or hesitation whatsoever, “Nah. I like you just the way you are, Eds.”

And because that’s so sweet to hear, he doesn’t even correct him.

-

(Five)

Sometimes, Eddie feels like he will burst like a balloon (maybe not a good analogy) if he doesn’t tell Richie Tozier that he loves him. It’s there all the time, in the back of his mind, with everything Richie does.

He feels it when Richie makes him a new mixtape, with dumb names like “Music to Jerk Off To” and “Clown-Killing Tracks.” When Richie steals him a dessert in the cafeteria since his mom doesn’t give him enough lunch money for one. When Richie holds him tight when the nightmares get to be too much. When he thinks of his future and there isn’t a single version without Richie in it.

But he almost doesn’t feel it enough to say it. He knows what happens to gay couples, he sees it on the news all the time. If he says it, what’s between them is real. And that stops him.

He still feels it though.

One day, when he almost says it after Richie saves him a slice of pizza, he enlists Ben’s help in being romantic. Because even though Richie and Eddie have been dating a while (almost a year), Bill and Stan have both dated people but are now single, Bev and Mike are both seeing people, Ben’s the most romantic of bunch. 

After he blurts all his feelings to Haystack, much easier than saying them to Richie, his friend is quiet for a moment. “I have a plan,” He says simply, and tugs him into his house.

Before he knows it, they sit on his sofa, his family’s entire collection of romantic comedies VHS tapes scattered around them.

“These will guide us,” Ben says, holding up a copy of _Sixteen Candles._

“How?”

“You need to learn how to find the Moment,” His friend says. “Capital-M Moment. If you’re gonna tell him-”

“Why do I have to tell him?” He nearly whines. “Why can’t he say it first?”

Ben laughs, “You think Trashmouth is going to say he loves you first?”

Eddie purses his lips in thought, and Ben sighs. “Sorry, that was mean. But Richie never seemed like that kind of boyfriend. But what do I know? I’m not dating him.”

“Thank god you aren’t,” He says with a small smile. They both laugh.

“If it makes you feel better,” Ben offers. “He loves you. I just don’t think he can say it yet.”

Eddie can’t help the blushing smile on his face. He’s lucky he’s with Ben, because the others would make fun of him. “Really?”

Ben nods emphatically, “It’s kind of ridiculous, like he’s always watching you to make sure you’re okay, and I heard him tell Stan that he didn’t deserve you.”

“What?” Eddie says, taken aback. That decides it for him. “I need to tell him,” He says, and then looks at all the tapes around them, and says, “Let’s find the Moment.” And Ben beams.

The Capital-M-Moment happens about two weeks later, when they’re watching TV at Richie’s house. His curfew is in three minutes and the TV show is dumb cartoons and he just... _feels_ it. He knows it’s not a moment like after his sister’s wedding (which is fine he doesn’t have a sister) or after the big football game (which is great, because neither of them are jocks). But it feels like a Moment nonetheless.

He clears his throat, “Hey, I love you.”

Richie’s head whips around so fast he’s surprised his neck didn’t break. “Um, what?”

Eddie’s cheeks burn and he almost wants to snap at his boyfriend for milking it, but he sees the insecurity behind his stupidly large glasses. So he repeats himself, “I love you.”

Richie says nothing for a second that lasts entirely too long, and then says in one of his stupid Voices, “Say it again.”

“Jesus Christ, you asshole,” Eddie laughs. Richie cackles and throws himself on top of him, and they both fall off the sofa and wrestle around on the floor.

Soon, Richie has Eddie’s wrists in a loose brace on top of him, not that he would bother trying to break free since he likes exactly where he is.

Then that insecurity sticks on Richie’s face, and he says, “Hey, I care about you, _so_ fucking much, but... I can’t _say_ -”

“You don’t have to,” Eddie’s quick to interrupt. “I just wanted you to know.”

Richie’s quiet for a solid three seconds, and just when Eddie’s about to congratulate him, he says, “That you _loooooooovee meeeee_ -”

“I take it back,” He threatens.

“You can’t!” Richie bounces a little like the excitable idiot he is. And then a tickle war breaks out, and Eddie’s distracted from the slight pain that comes from baring yourself and not getting exactly what you want in return.

But he’s okay.

+

(One)

Eddie Kaspbrak, now nearly 16, starts getting worried as he paces in the rocks. He and Richie were supposed to meet at the Barrens at 4 o’clock, and now it’s nearly 4:30. He had figured on Richie being fifteen minutes late, because that’s just who he is as a person, but not thirty.

Worry nags at his stomach and his chest, so he decides to walk around to find his boyfriend. He heads to the main overpass, and sees a group of people crowding around another person, and something sinks in his gut.

“Richie,” He breathes out. Quickly, he runs to the overpass, letting shrubs and bushes cut at him as he sneaks through them. As he gets closer, he can hear Richie shouting.

“Fucking cowards!” Richie screams at them, a fury in his tone that makes his boyfriend smirk. “Can’t take me on your own, Belch? Need your fucking goons-” Eddie’s stomach clenches when he hears Richie groan in pain, so he moves a bit faster.

“Mouthy fuckin’ faggot,” Belch’s voice says, pure disdain dripping off his tongue. “Maybe after we finish with you, we can pay your little homo boyfriend a visit-”

To Eddie’s surprise, he hears Belch groan out in pain. Eddie climbs up the side of the hill to see Belch on his knees, clutching his balls. He watches as Richie then punches Vic in the face and Moose in the stomach.

“You fucking touch Eddie and I will rip you apart limb from limb, you got that?” Richie spits at Belch as he lies on the ground.

“You broke my goddamn nose!” Vic cries out.

“Fuckin’ queers,” Moose says, pained but still hateful.

Richie sneers at him, “Yeah, I love Eddie Kaspbrak. That makes me, what? A goddamn queer? A cocksucking homo? So fucking what? You assholes gonna keep attacking me for it? Fine. Just leave him alone, or so help me God-”

Eddie panics when he sees Vic lunge at him, since Richie is too engrossed in his (admittedly, oddly heartwarming) speech to notice. But since he’s closest to him, Eddie picks up a rock and lunges it at the peroxide bully, nailing him square in the back.

Vic falls forward to the ground, yelping in pain. The others scurry to stand.

“Get the fuck away,” Eddie shouts at them, scrambling to grab another rock. “Or I’m aiming for faces next.”

“Damn right,” Richie says, smiling at him. That’s when Eddie notices his boyfriend’s nose is bleeding, causing blood to seep past his lips into his mouth.

“What makes you think you can do-” Eddie nails Belch in the forehead.

“Go!” Eddie shouts at them, and the bullies flee. Soon enough, it’s just Eddie and Richie on the side of the road.

“Nice aim, Eds,” Richie says, pure pride in his voice.

Focusing on the blood on his boyfriend’s face, Eddie absently says, “Don’t call me that.” But he focuses on reaching into his fanny pack, which no longer contains his medicines but now contains First Aid kit supplies, since all the Losers in Derry can’t help but find trouble even when not fighting Pennywise.

They move down to the river’s edge and Eddie cleans Richie up and bandages his bruising knuckles.

“Is your nose broken?” He asks.

Richie tentatively touches his nose and hisses “No,” He lies.

Eddie rolls his eyes and scoots closer. “Come on, I’ll snap it back into place.”  
“Nope, not happening, Kaspbrak.”

“Hey! I let you re-break my arm,” Eddie points out with a laugh, but then the humor fades from them as they think of that stupid, fucking house.

After an awkward silence Richie snickers, “You didn’t ‘let’ me do shit, you told me to ‘don’t fucking touch me’ and I reserve the right-”

Eddie lunges, interrupting him mid-monologue, and snaps his nose back into place.

“Fuck! You dick!” Richie bitches, grabbing at his face, but it’s too late.

Unrepentant, Eddie just leans back and grabs hand sanitizer to clean off his hands. “You deserve it, asswipe.”

They sit in silence for another moment as Richie gently touches his nose. “Well, I better be as beautiful as I was before.”

“Trust me, it’s an improvement.”

Richie scoffs, “'Improve'? This face?” He gestures to his face with his finger in a grand circle. “Impossible.”

“Necessary.”

Richie smiles at him, and then clears his throat. “So. How long were you waiting with that rock to be my knight in shining armor?”

“Huh?”

“I’m just curious, like how much did you hear of that bullshit?”

Eddie doesn’t answer, which he guesses is answer enough.

Richie seethes. “Fuck.”

“What? You pissed that you told Bowers’ gang that you ‘loved’ me before you actually told me?” Eddie asks, more pissed than he realized.

His emotionally-constipated boyfriend winces, “No. I’m fucking furious that that’s how you know. I had a whole plan at the Barrens today and everything.”

Almost all of his anger dissipates completely. “I- what? Really?”

“Yeah, it was gonna be romantic as shit,” He says, leaning back too. Together, they stare out at the River that cuts through by the bridge, the water sparkling sunlight into their eyes. “I was gonna get down on one knee and profess my undying love for you-”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, blushing hard.

Richie’s only acknowledgement of the embarrassing pinkening is poking at his cheek. But he says, “I swear on my life, Eddie. That was my plan. Then those fuck-os jumped me.”

“I believe you,” Eddie says, but then smiles to himself. “But say it again.”

Richie waggles his eyebrows and falls to the ground before Eddie, causing his boyfriend to laugh. The bespectacled boy grabs the recovering hypochondriac’s hand as he kneels before him and says, “Edward Edmund Spaghetti Kaspbrak-”

“You fuck, that’s not my name-”

“I love you,” Richie says and the words nearly floor him. So he stops talking and absorbs this moment. “Forever. Alright?”

“I love you too, Trashmouth.”

“Kiss this Trashmouth on the lips,” Richie says and puckers up.

“Ew, nope, can’t do it,” Eddie shakes his head as he pictures the ramifications of kissing a trashcan. “The visual, too gross now-”

But then Richie leans up and kisses him. And words stop being so important.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!! i hope you liked it. feel free to hit me up @richiewheeler on tumblr if you have any requests or headcanons or just want to talk! (also this is un-beta'd because I just wanted to post it you know)


End file.
